


one day we’ll call this by the right name

by manusinistra



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: F/F, maybe some other things too, past but will it stay there yvesoul, resort town au, side lipves, think soap opera set in a beach town, this gets pretty messy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-03-26 09:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19002724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manusinistra/pseuds/manusinistra
Summary: Jinsoul doesn’t need another beautiful, broken girl complicating her life, but at least she’s not in love with this one when she shouldn’t be.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This has 4 parts (I'm actually sticking to my plan this time, hopefully) and I'm trying out alternating POVs. Jinsoul first, next will be Haseul. Also, there's not real/sustained cheating in this, but we're getting into some moral gray areas so beware.

“Can you get them fresher?” 

The client – Mrs. Kim – frowns down at the basket of crabs Jinsoul is holding, delivered special as per her request. One sticks its pincer through the netting, trying to claw at Jinsoul’s hand. 

“Fresher,” Jinsoul repeats, squinting against the bright afternoon sun. They’re standing on the porch of the beach house Mrs. Kim and her husband are renting, and Jinsoul can hear the surf break in the distance, a low, rhythmic rumble. 

“My cook says crustaceans shouldn’t be out of the water for more than an hour before going in the pot.”

She follows that up with a huff, as if Jinsoul is the one being ridiculous right now. 

Jinsoul smiles, biting down on the impulse to explain that this kind of crab lives on land for days at a time. It’s her job to make the Kims’ stay as perfect as possible, after all. Not to educate them about crustaceans.

“Of course. I’m happy to accommodate, give me thirty minutes.”

“You wouldn’t have to accommodate if you did it right the first time.”

Jinsoul’s face doesn’t change, but her internal monologue does. She tries to be nice most of the time, even inside her head, but this particular client has earned all the scathing commentary she can muster. So, she lets herself notice the tacky leopard print and ghastly blue eye shadow, the wrinkles around Mrs. Kim’s eyes despite the fact that she claims to be 26. 

Jinsoul would bet a year’s rent that she’s new money. Each flavor of rich people presents its own challenge, but those who aren’t born to it tend to be the most extravagantly annoying. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jinsoul says.

She holds the smile all the way to her car. There she sighs and slumps into her seat, giving up hope of getting off early. Rental season won’t get going in earnest for another few weeks, and Jinsoul was hoping to head to the beach after this delivery. Maybe even get some surfing in – the waves are gorgeous today. 

Sadly, they’ll have to wait. “Fresher” crabs come first.

Jinsoul drives over to the island’s bay side, leaving the windows down since the humidity hasn’t fully hit yet. That’s coming soon, air so heavy you have to swim through it, along with the rush of people that descend for the official start of summer. 

Today, though, the breeze is cool and Jinsoul has only this one (obnoxious) set of vacationers to pacify. She parks by a public pier, grabs a bucket from the trunk and dunks it into the sound. Then she transfers the crabs into it, letting a few go out of spite. This isn’t their habitat of choice – they prefer brackish water – but they’ll survive.

When she delivers the rest, Mrs. Kim pulls a crab out and makes a show of inspecting it.

“Much better,” she says.

Jinsoul keeps smiling. 

;;

When Jinsoul tells Yves the story, back at the office, all she gets is laughter. It’s not sympathetic.

“She was so annoying, give me pity!”

“I had to explain that you can’t ride dolphins four times yesterday. This dude was so sure I had one saddled up somewhere. Your crabs aren’t even the worst for this week.”

Jinsoul pouts because she knows it’s true. 

All this is par for the course, really. It’s what they do: cater to hyper wealthy vacationers and their weird requests. The business started out more normal, making up beds and stocking fridges in rent-by-the-week beach houses, but then Yves saw an untapped market. People will pay so much for things while on vacation, even more so on an island where there are no hotels and no concierges to yell at. 

Now, they’ve built up a name for themselves and a solid client base. Yves runs the company, and Jinsoul does whatever else needs to get done when she can fit it in around her research. That’s why she’s on the island – the university marine lab sits at the north end, and Jinsoul has been working there since she started her PhD. 

Yves is all in on making money, though, for reasons that neither of them like to dredge up. 

“Ok,” Yves says. “Your favorites are headed out Friday, but we’ve got a few more coming in this weekend. Are you chasing turtles?”

“Saturday, yeah. And I’ve told you a hundred times not to call it that! We’re geotagging sea turtles-”

“Because it’s vital that we understand marine migration patterns so we can protect the right habitats. I know, I know.”

Yves’ smile is soft despite the teasing, and though they’re past the days when that smile made Jinsoul’s heart race she still likes knowing that Yves listens. You have to earn Yves' attention, but if you do there’s no one better at making you feel cared for. 

Jinsoul clears her throat.

“I can take anyone coming in Sunday, if you handle the Saturday arrivals.”

Yves scans the laptop screen, nods.

“Cool, there’s just one Sunday. Ms. Jo Haseul, traveling alone. But, uh.”

She tilts the laptop so that Jinsoul can read, and Jinsoul’s eyebrows go all the way up.

This woman has the weirdest list of requests she’s ever seen: only green and red foods, champagne at exactly -2 degrees Celsius, all consumable goods from at least 50 miles away (“down with locavores!” reads the more comments section). And, finally: no pictures of men anywhere in the house.

“I can get behind that last one,” Yves says. 

“Then why don’t you take the account.”

“Nah, this summer we’re looking for a rich girl for you.” Yves waggles her eyebrows. “Ms. Jo Haseul has potential.”

Jinsoul rolls her eyes.

“She’s probably 50.”

“50 can be hot.”

“Ew, Yves, no. Go call your girlfriend so I don’t have to deal with you.”

Yves ignores her, skimming through the rest of the booking details. Bursts out laughing all of a sudden. 

“What now? Does she want a tour of ritual sacrifice locations, or something?”

“She booked platinum tier.”

“Seriously?”

Platinum tier is a thing they threw on the website to make their other prices look reasonable in comparison. Yves insisted on it, back at the beginning, because marketing 101: even rich people choose the second most expensive option and pat themselves on the back for saving money. In their three years of operation, no one has ever picked platinum. 

“Remind me what that even means?” Jinsoul says.

“We ‘attend to the client personally throughout their stay,’ starting with picking her up from the airport. With mimosas and a shrimp cocktail.”

“Please say that’s a joke.” 

“The shrimp cocktail, yes. Picking her up, no.”

Jinsoul flops dramatically onto the desk, only she misjudges the distance and her head thunks hard against the metal top.

Ow. That hurt.

“You’re still not getting out of this,” Yves says around a smirk.

If it were two weeks later, they could send one of seasonal workers to the airport. Right now, though, they’re running on skeleton staff: it’s just Yves and Jinsoul and the two local kids who help them out around school. And Gowon and Choerry can’t be trusted to drive the company van – the last time they had the keys they brought back five gallons of ice cream instead of the person they were supposed to pick up.

Which leaves Jinsoul or Yves.

“Yvesss,” Jinsoul whines.

“No.”

“But you know I hate driving over the bridge.”

“Facing your fears makes you stronger.”

“Or you could face them for me.”

Jinsoul lets her voice go high and soft, scrunching her face in the way that Yves pretends to hate. She’s secretly weak for it, though, and after 30 seconds of Jinsoul’s best aegyo Yves cracks and admits: 

“I can’t. She’s staying on Oceanview.” 

Jinsoul’s playfulness fades.

“Ok, I’ve got it. What time does her plane get in?” 

;;

At the airport, Jinsoul’s first thought is: Ms. Jo Haseul is not 50. 

She’s around Jinsoul’s age, easy to pick out from the people trickling through baggage claim because she’s not a kid coming home from college or a marine headed to the nearby base. In the sea of sweatshirts and camouflage, Haseul is straight out of a corporate board room. Her dark suit seems made only for her, and she moves with the sharp, unthinking grace of someone accustomed to power and paid well for her time. 

It’s not just the clothes and fashionably chic bob; she inhabits luxury like it’s her skin. You could dress Jinsoul like that and she’d fidget and stumble, but this woman walks as comfortably in Louboutin spike heels as Jinsoul does in her sandals.

Something twinges in Jinsoul, watching Haseul. 

Yves used to move like that. She had that same sharp elegance, and if she didn’t wear her family’s wealth this seamlessly – maybe she would have by now, if not for everything. 

Haseul’s eyes find the placard in Jinsoul’s hands. Move up to scan Jinsoul, who feels small under the scrutiny.

“Hello,” Haseul says, voice friendlier than Jinsoul expects. “You’re here for me?”

“Yes, let me grab your luggage and then we can go.”

“This is all I have.”

Haseul holds up a leather laptop bag. It’s beautifully made, like everything else about her, but it’d be hard to fit a change of clothes in there. Let alone enough for the week Haseul has booked.

Curiosity pricks at Jinsoul. If this wasn’t a planned trip, what on earth brings Haseul here? The island is beautiful, but they usually get retirees or couples with kids, people looking for a private, family friendly escape. Haseul is neither of those things, and Jinsoul can’t imagine her being impressed by mini golf or jet ski riding, their two most popular add-on activities. 

“Ok, sure. Then right this way, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Haseul.”

Out in the parking lot, Jinsoul opens the passenger door for her, clumsy with the unfamiliar gesture. 

Haseul smiles anyway. She has a great smile, full and disarming. Jinsoul forgets for a second that she needs to close the door. 

It’s an hour’s drive to the island, and Jinsoul has been dreading this part: making extended small talk with some stuck up rich girl. 

It’s easy to talk to Haseul, though. She asks a lot of questions – about the island at first, how Jinsoul came to work there, but then about Jinsoul’s research when she accidentally reveals she’s halfway through a PhD. 

Jinsoul didn’t mean to let that slip, but it’s a lot, having Haseul’s attention focused on her. Haseul talks so fast, and Jinsoul wonders if her own slow, deliberate speech is annoying when you're used to that pace. Haseul doesn’t seem to mind, though, just waits with a half-smile for Jinsoul to find her way to answers. 

And watches. Haseul keeps watching her, and Jinsoul’s glad she needs to keep her eyes on the road because she doesn't know what she would do otherwise. So many of their clients treat Jinsoul like beach Barbie come to life that Haseul's interest is confusing, throwing her out of her comfort zone.

When Haseul is telling a story of her own – something carefully pedestrian, that reveals almost nothing about her – she makes a gesture with her hand. 

Light flashes off the ring on her finger. Jinsoul is a beat late in slowing for a red light, disappointment washing over her. 

You should never admit to Yves that she’s right, but she kind of was here. In terms of rich summer flings, Jinsoul could do a lot worse than the woman sitting in the passenger seat. 

Only she's married, because that's just Jinsoul's luck. Not that she expected anything to happen, but. It’d be nice to have a pretty, uncomplicated girl to daydream about.

Jinsoul puts that out of her head, turning on to Oceanview. The Ha family house looms at the end of the block, empty like it’s been for years now.

Haseul is staying in the neighboring rental, a four-story beachfront monstrosity with a roof deck. It sleeps fifteen comfortably, and Jinsoul wonders again why Haseul is here alone.

Jinsoul leaves her with the key, and with her personal cell number. 

“Call anytime, if there’s anything at all you need.”

;;

On Monday, Jinsoul and Yves read through applications for summer hires.

There’s a stack of them, and they’re making good progress until they get distracted by one so hilariously bad it requires a dramatic reading.

“I’m applying to be a driver because I have a suspended license,” Yves intones in the manner of a Shakespearean actor. “I’m very familiar with our traffic laws since I have broken most of them.”

As she keeps going, the door opens and Lip peers in. She raises a finger to her mouth, asking for Jinsoul’s silence, sneaking up behind Yves. 

Just as Yves is getting to the dramatic climax – an accident in which the applicant ran into a parked car – Lip rests her chin on Yves shoulder.

“What,” Yves sputters, jerking at the unexpected contact.

“Hey babe,” Lip says, pecking her on the cheek. 

They hug and kiss, going through the usual rituals of reunited lovers. Jinsoul picks up the stack of applications, happy for them but not enough so to watch.

“I thought you had that engineering conference?” Yves says, befuddled but pleased. 

“I do, this is a stop on the way. I can only stay a few days but I wanted to see you.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I mean, I’m thrilled you’re here but it must’ve been expensive.”

Jinsoul smiles into the paperwork. Yves likes being made to feel special, and Lip is doing well at that. Until:

“Oh don’t worry, the company’s paying for all my travel anyway.”

Lip doesn’t see the look on Yves’ face, but Jinsoul does. A dozen questions rise in her mind but she decides – no. That’s not her business, like she’s been deciding for the year since Lip and Yves got together.

;;

Haseul calls later that afternoon. 

“I need clothes,” she says. “Where do you recommend?”

There are two places to buy clothes on the island: a surf/skate shop, and an overpriced designer boutique. Jinsoul takes Haseul to the latter, though not before chuckling at the thought of her in Vans and a Billabong t-shirt. 

At the boutique, Haseul grabs clothes by the handful and brings them to the checkout counter.

“You don’t want to try those on?” the attendant asks. “We have a no returns policy.”

Haseul shrugs.

“I don’t care.”

She doesn’t react as the attendant rings up her purchase, total climbing quickly into the thousands.

Jinsoul feels anxious just being near someone dropping that much money, browses the sunglasses by the register to distract herself. She needs new ones – hers are scratched and cloudy – but she’d never buy them from here.

Haseul notices her inspecting a pair.

“Here, let me get those for you. As thanks for driving me around.”

“You’re paying me to do that.” 

“Then think of it as an investment. Your eyes need the best protection if I’m trusting you to drive me.”

Haseul tilts her head, encouraging, and though it’s kindly put Jinsoul gets the feeling there’s no possible way for her to win here. So she nods, trying not to notice how pretty Haseul looks eyes lit up with victory. 

They go more places over the next few days, and Haseul continues spending at a blinding pace. Their clients are always excessive, but Haseul is so mercenary in her excess, like she doesn’t care about the specifics as long as things cost a ton of money. 

Jinsoul is intrigued despite herself, because she’s never seen someone hand out hundred dollar tips like it’s nothing. Haseul doesn’t do it in the way of creepy guys looking to score, either: she gives one to the cute girl in the ice cream parlor, but also to the grizzled old man who runs the birdwatching boat tour. He blinks down at the crisp green bill, like it’s a species he’s never seen before.

;; 

After Lip leaves, Jinsoul gets a text from Yves.

_We’re drinking tonight._

_Ok_ , she sends back, because tonight is the season kickoff party and there was always going to be drinking. It’s a thing that happens every year, the week before Memorial Day: all the locals gather together to eat and drink and work the kinks out of their operations before the tourists get here.

She worries about the declaration, though, about what happened between Yves and Lip to cause it.

At the party Yves sticks close all night, arm draped over Jinsoul’s shoulders. She does that a lot, with everyone who’s her height or smaller, but this is almost like she’s staking a claim. There’s a casual possessiveness to it: something in their dynamic has changed, and Jinsoul doesn't know what to make of it. 

She does know that she’s enjoying it a little too much, Yves warm and attentive at her side.

After the party, Yves invites Jinsoul back to her place. Jinsoul says yes despite a vague feeling of danger, because Yves doesn’t often make a gesture and if Jinsoul doesn't get her to talk she’ll just bottle things up forever.

They sit outside, near the firepit behind Yves’ place. Yves gets a fire started, brings Jinsoul a margarita so strong it’s basically just alcohol.

“Lip asked me to move in with her,” Yves says. 

“Congrats.” 

Jinsoul takes a sip of her drink, doing her best to mean it. She must not pull it off, because Yves looks at her like she sees straight through, like it’s cute that Jinsoul thinks she can hide anything. 

She hates when Yves does that. Life would be easier if she got to have secrets. 

“Do you ever think about that summer?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“So you do.” 

“What does it matter now. You’ve got Lip.”

And Jinsoul isn’t often bitter about that summer, not anymore, but with firelight flickering over Yves’ face and the fraying sweatshirt she’s had since freshman year, time isn’t keeping in order. It’s now, but it’s also four years ago when she and Yves sat in this exact spot with promise coiling between them, projecting out a happy, intertwined future. If the past could see them now.

“I think about it,” Yves says, and Jinsoul wishes she hadn’t. Things are easier to ignore when they’re impossible. 

Jinsoul doesn’t take the bait, but she's tempted. Resisting is a conscious decision – each second she has to repeat to herself, you will not do this, you will not blow up three lives in a single night. 

Because the thing is: Yves and Lip are good together. Not perfect, maybe, but there’s real affection and trust in the way Yves lights up when Lip’s around, in the way she smiles down at her phone whenever Lip sends her a message. Jinsoul wants both of them to be happy, and even if she didn't there’s so much wreckage already between her and Yves.

Jinsoul reminds herself of all this, but then Yves’ arm circles her shoulders again and she shudders with the effort it takes to not do something. 

There’s a hand on her chin, turning her to face Yves. Yves’ dark, dark eyes defeat all her reasoning. 

When they kiss, Yves tastes like tequila.

Jinsoul doesn’t care. Yves tucks Jinsoul’s hair back behind her ear, and Jinsoul makes a sound into Yves’ mouth, and all of this feels so familiar but at the same time it’s nothing like any kiss they’ve had before. It aches deep in Jinsoul’s chest, in all the half-healed places Yves has left marks. 

Jinsoul is losing herself, but she holds on long enough to ask:

“What about your girlfriend?”

“She’s not here,” Yves says, and it stings like a slap. 

That’s the worst possible version of Yves talking, the one who doesn’t care about herself or other people. Jinsoul can’t be responsible for setting it free – not when Yves barely survived the last time it happened. Nothing is worth that trade, no matter how much Jinsoul wants in this moment.

She ducks her chin, escaping Yves’ seeking lips.

“That’s not a good enough answer.”

She’s up and walking away before Yves can respond, and though Yves yells after her to wait Jinsoul doesn’t listen. She’s already made one mistake tonight, and if Yves starts talking she doesn’t trust herself not to make another.

;;

Jinsoul walks home, hoping to clear her head.

It’s a long walk, two miles down the beach and then a third across the island. She’s about halfway when she runs across another person.

Jinsoul hears them before she sees them, and while this is a safe-ish town it’s still concerning, being not quite sober on top of young, female, and alone. She hopes it’s just an insomniac out for a moonlit wander, or a couple of kids looking for space to be alone. 

As Jinsoul passes a dune the person comes into view, slouched into the sand. It’s neither of those things, but it is familiar.

“Haseul,” Jinsoul calls out.

Haseul jerks her head up, toppling over with the force of it. She’s clearly drunk, and as Jinsoul gets closer she sees that it’s a jagged, angry kind of drunk: her hair and clothes are disheveled, and though it’s hard to tell in the moonlight there might be tear tracks down her cheeks.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m perfect. Can’t you tell?”

Haseul is losing letters in those words, but the slur is less surprising than how hostile she sounds. 

It’s the last thing Jinsoul expects from the chatty, pleasant woman she spent the past few days with, and it turns Jinsoul’s idle curiosity into something more dangerous. She doesn't know what it says about her, that she's more interested in Haseul now that she needs saving, but she couldn't help Yves when they were 21 and scared and the world was collapsing around them, and maybe she can help Haseul now. 

Jinsoul doesn’t need another beautiful, broken girl complicating her life, but at least she’s not in love with this one when she shouldn’t be. 

Besides, this is a problem with a solution: drunk, angry woman goes from the beach into a bed. 

"Let's get you inside," Jinsoul says.

Haseul cooperates, more or less, leaning heavily against her as they head up the private boardwalk and into the house. The TV is blaring when they get inside.

"It was too quiet," Haseul says. 

Jinsoul gets her a glass of water, makes sure she gets into a bedroom. She's surprised at where Haseul chooses to sleep - not one of the two tricked-out master suites, but a plain room with two double beds, probably meant for someone's kids. 

"Will you stay?" The question catches Jinsoul off guard; her face must do something because Haseul laughs. "Not like that. Just, since you're here already and it's late. It'd be nice not to be alone."

;;

Jinsoul wakes up the next morning disoriented.

Then she remembers. Yves, in the firelight. Haseul, snoring softly the next bed over. 

She should deal with Yves first, judging from the dozen new messages on her phone. They need to have a real conversation, which means Jinsoul needs to come to terms with what she actually wants.

She loves Yves, as a friend and as more, in the way of first love that never completely lets go its hold on you. She can’t imagine living in a world without Yves, but staring up at the ceiling in this ridiculous house she admits that she also can’t imagine really being with her again. 

It feels impossible, wading through the morass of betrayal and broken promises them getting together would cause, much less making it out with either of them left intact. Jinsoul is so tired already, in the bone deep way that sleep can't touch. It’s like a sailboat fighting against both wind and tide: you can cut back and forth for as long as you want, but you’ll never make progress unless you change direction.

Haseul makes a sound in her sleep, shuffling under the covers, and it pulls Jinsoul out of her thoughts.

It’s been awhile since she woke up to another person’s breathing, to a space that’s full with more than just her own presence.

It’s not terrible. Maybe she should try it again, someday.

She leaves Haseul with some Advil, slips out the back door to go find Yves.

;;

"I’m sorry," Yves says when they meet on the beach. "I shouldn't have put you in that position."

Jinsoul nods.

"I can’t tell you that it’s ok."

"I know, I just. Please don’t leave me."

Yves looks so worried, her composed façade completely gone. Jinsoul hugs her, and if it’s hard to draw the line between platonic and more with someone who makes up so much of your world things always makes sense when she’s hugging Yves. It's simple and right, and Jinsoul lets herself fall into the comfort of it.

“I can’t lose you,” Yves says, and Jinsoul feels tears burn against her neck. 

She blinks away her own.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere. We’ll be ok. We just maybe won’t drink together without supervision for a while.”

Yves squeezes Jinsoul hard before pulling back. 

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“I am, too. Did you talk to Lip?”

“Not yet. I needed to make sure we were ok first.”

There goes Jinsoul’s heart, but no. She's not going to fall back into this – it’s not good for either of them, which means she has to be clearer now than she ever has been before.

“Yves. If you don’t want to move in with her, don’t. But I can’t be your excuse.”

Yves frowns.

“It’s not that, I-”

“Do you think it’s fair to her, that you're talking to me first? That I'm always your priority?”

Yves doesn’t say anything for a long time, staring out over the ocean. It’s gray today, clouds and water blending into an indistinguishable haze at the horizon.

“I want to be with her,” Yves finally says. “But I need you, too.”


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while - there are a lot of moving parts in this one. Next part is back to Jinsoul. Hopefully coming next week, but things are a bit hectic right now so I can't make promises. Hope you enjoy. As always, would love to hear thoughts.

Haseul wakes up to a dull headache. 

She reaches for her phone out of instinct, to check her email and Google alerts, only to remember that the one charging on the bedside table isn’t her real phone. 

That’s at the bottom of the Han River, where she threw it after the last company meeting she’ll ever go to. Before she got on the plane to this beautiful, remote, incredibly boring island.

Haseul sighs, rolling over. She wishes she were the type to just sleep away the day in contentment. God knows she’s racked up enough sleep debt to justify it, but her body is stubborn in its habits – once she’s awake she’s awake for good, mind itching for crises to avert.

The crisis that brought her here is long past averting. It’s happening, and it will keep on happening until her family’s company is too toxic to touch. 

That doesn’t mean the business is done; companies as big as theirs never really die. Pieces of it will metastasize and reappear elsewhere, probably with one of her siblings at the head. She thinks that’s why her parents put aside their mutual hatred to reproduce three times: so they’d have enough offspring for corporate rebrandings. 

Haseul is finished, though, her role in the proceedings cut off abruptly. Just like her old phone.

This one came from an airport vending machine. Jinsoul’s is the only number in it. 

Which reminds her: Jinsoul was here last night. It should be embarrassing, the way Haseul acted, but she’s so far past things like that the idea seems quaint. How nice it would be, to feel something as simple as embarrassment.

Still, Haseul appreciates that she’s lying on soft cotton rather than sand. Appreciates the painkillers Jinsoul left, too. 

There’s a lot to appreciate about Jinsoul, really. 

She’s the perfect combination of awkward and charming, and it’s a shame they didn't meet earlier, before the places in Haseul devoted to feeling got too overloaded to be much use. At this point, Haseul alternates between numb (right now) and so overwhelmed by negative emotion she’ll use any available substance to get back to numb (last night). 

There’s little space left in her for anything else, but she musters enough investment to send Jinsoul a message: 

_Thanks for being kinder than you had to be._

;;

Haseul makes coffee and toast and heads to the roof. After she’s eaten her mind feels clearer, clear enough for the call she needs to make. 

This number she knows by heart. Her husband picks up on the first ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” Haseul says.

“Where are you?” 

“I’m not going to tell you.”

He sighs.

“You don’t tell me a lot of things.”

“That’s for your sake as much as mine.”

He’s quiet for a while, and Haseul can hear shouting about shareholders across the line. He shouldn’t be at the office now, given the time difference, but then he probably hasn’t gone home in days.

“That sounds fun,” Haseul says.

“It’s complete chaos here. As you planned, I’m sure.”

“Have you thought about my proposal?”

“The answer’s still no. I won’t abandon you in the middle of this.”

“You wouldn’t be abandoning me. You’d be setting me free.”

“Even if you make it sound pretty, I can’t do it.”

Now it’s Haseul’s turn to sigh. She expected this answer, but it’s still disappointing.

“You can, you’re just choosing not to. And I’m going to change your mind.” There’s more shouting in the background, volume increasing, and she softens for a second. “Be safe, ok?”

“You too.”

;;

For as long as Haseul can remember, it’s been the company first. 

Before, she approached this fact with cheerful fatalism. She was good at the work she was given to do, and she was fond enough of the man she was given to marry. If she wondered, in stolen moments, what it’d be like to choose the shape of her life – that was just an idle fantasy. 

Then, the crisis happened. It started with an oil spill, which was unfortunate given their push into renewable energy. (“A greener future” rings hollow against a backdrop of oil-slick creatures and black-stained sand). Unfortunate but not catastrophic, until Haseul came in to do damage control and found the most damning documents imaginable. 

Fraud, lying, extortion. Short of outright murder, her family had done it all. And was stupid enough to keep the records. 

Holding the evidence in her hands, Haseul felt her world shift. She always knew they operated in shades of gray, but. There’s gray, and then there’s black so dark you can’t see a hand held in front of your face. 

She decided that maybe the company didn’t deserve to be first. Maybe it didn’t deserve to be at all. 

The truth is this: Haseul didn’t cause the crisis, but she turned survivable scandal into apocalypse. 

Now, the only bridge left unburned is her husband (and their incredibly thorough prenup, which guarantees neither of them can dissolve the marriage without the other’s agreement). 

He’s trying to be noble in standing by her, and she’d applaud the chivalry if it wasn’t keeping her tied to a life she can no longer imagine living. 

He’ll come around, she thinks. He may be a good person but numbers in a ledger are his first language. If she burns through enough money this summer, he’ll have to listen. 

It hasn’t worked yet, so time to up the stakes. 

;;

Haseul makes another call, to the company that manages this beach house. After ten minutes of small talk, she asks:

“How much is this place for the summer?”

“I’m sorry, we already have a reservation for next week. I could give you a slot in late June, if you’d like.”

“Aw, that’s a shame. You’re sure there’s no way to rent the whole summer?”

“Sorry, ma’am, we can’t cancel existing reservations. Just think about how the other visitors would feel.”

Haseul smiles. 

There are different ways of wearing power. Many in her circle like to be obvious with it, to project their presence the second they walk into the room. Haseul can do that, but she’s too small (and too female) for it to be her best move. Besides, it’s boring. 

She prefers disarming people, seeming friendly and approachable so that they let down their guard. It’s not a lie – she likes conversation. But she likes even more the moment someone realizes that they’ve underestimated her, that casual conversation is also a chess match Haseul’s set herself up to win. 

Like right now. 

“A clause in your rental agreement states that all reservations are conditional, subject to refund or relocation in the event of unforeseen circumstances. I saw that this house is for sale – I’ll buy it if I have to, but I will be here all summer. Now, is that something you can help me with, or should I reach out to the seller?”

There’s a minute of shell-shocked silence.

“Let me get the manager.” 

;;

The morning flies by in a haze of negotiation. Haseul makes calls, drinks a lot of coffee, and enjoys the clarity of working toward a simple goal.

Then, it’s done.

The offer is made and accepted. The house is Haseul’s, and her good mood evaporates.

She needs to be here, waiting, for the indefinite future, but she has no other things to do. Nothing but time stretches out before her. What does a person do with that much time.

Her phone buzzes, saving her from having to decide. 

It's Jinsoul, texting _don’t worry it’s fine_.

That’s a dismissal, though a nice one, and if Haseul were busy she’d leave it there. Since she’s not, she sets a new goal: get Jinsoul to do something with her. 

She isn’t sure what her angle should be, which is strange because that was her job. Understand people and all their angles, know which one will get the company what it wants.

This feels different, though, and it occurs to her that texting Jinsoul is her first deliberate act done for no one but herself. 

It’s weird, and a little paralyzing. Haseul is great at words when they’re instrumental, when she has a clear agenda. If Jinsoul were a company employee, for example, she’d know exactly how to express regret without admitting to wrongdoing, so that nothing she said could be weaponized in the event of a lawsuit. 

She doesn’t have ready language for her vague sense of indebtedness, though. After ten different drafts, she ends up with:

_Let me at least pay you back with coffee._

;;

They meet in the island’s one coffee shop. 

It’s in a long, low building, with windows open to let in the breeze, and as Haseul walks in she marvels at the expanse of it. She’s used to small city spaces packed tight with people, but here there’s only a handful of customers sprawled out amid wide-set tables and clusters of armchairs. 

Jinsoul is at a table in the back. Haseul orders a fruity iced thing because it seems unwise to intake more caffeine, then sits down across from her. 

She points to Jinsoul’s cup, full of what looks like black coffee.

“I meant to get that for you.”

“Maybe next time.”

Jinsoul doesn’t seem like herself. Her hair is usually on the purposeful side of messy, but now it sticks out in odd directions, like she’s been running a hand through it so much it gave up on going back into place. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and she doesn’t speak again or look at Haseul, just stirs her coffee in sullen silence.

Quite a role reversal, compared to last night.

“Do you want to talk about it,” Haseul says.

“About what?”

“Whatever made you into a zombie.”

Jinsoul looks abashed, straightens up and pastes on a passable smile. 

“Sorry, I’ve just got some personal things going on. Last night” – she pauses, reroutes that sentence – “is not a thing I should be telling a client about.”

“No, please overshare. After you took care of me, listening is the least I can do.”

“Let’s just say you weren’t the worst part of my night.”

That’s another dismissal, but more than boredom prompts Haseul to ignore this one. She’s getting intrigued, curious about whatever reduced her amiable vacation guide to this state, and if she’s being nosy that’s probably still healthier than numb detachment. 

“So who was?”

“You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

“Only when the situation requires it.”

Jinsoul shakes her head, but her smile looks realer. 

“Ok, fine. I figure you want me to talk so I won’t ask why you were wasted on the beach, but my best friend caused this and she’s the one I’d normally work things through with and it’d be good for me to get this out. So. Here we go.”

Haseul leans forward, clasping her hands on the table.

“I’m listening.”

“She kissed me last night.”

Jinsoul grimaces, like just saying the words is painful.

“Is that a problem?”

“She’s dating someone. And we work together. And she’s my ex.”

Haseul can’t hold back her laughter.

“Wow.”

“I know. It’s such a mess.”

It is, but Haseul specializes in messes. Her brain is already at work, diagnosing the damage and imagining ways to contain it.

“She initiated this kiss?” 

Jinsoul nods. 

“Did someone stop it?”

“I did.”

“Do you think it’ll happen again?” 

“No, we talked this morning and I told her it couldn’t. And I think she’s just scared because she’s getting serious with this other girl, but I was so close to letting her do anything she wanted and-”

“Stop right there. Breathe. You made a mistake, but you didn’t make the next three that could’ve happened after that. Don’t be guilty about the things you didn’t do.” 

Jinsoul looks better for a second, but before Haseul has time to feel accomplished a new horror dawns in her eyes.

“Oh god, how am I going to face her at work.”

“If you need someone to come play jealous lover to get her to back off, just let me know.” 

The offer comes quick out of Haseul’s mouth, quicker than she can process its implications. Thankfully, Jinsoul doesn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t think that would work, since you leave in three days.”

“Change of plans, actually. I’ll be here all summer.” Jinsoul’s face does a lot of things at that news. All of them are better than the previous self-pitying sadness. “By the way, do you think you could get me a car?”

“With how much you’re paying us, I can get you anything you want.”

“Anything, huh.”

Jinsoul blushes, but she doesn’t say no. 

;;

Haseul fills out a new list of requests for her extended stay.

Jinsoul isn’t the one to fulfil them. When the company van parks in Haseul’s driveway, a statuesque brunette and two teenage girls climb out. 

Haseul is disappointed, which is odd. She didn’t know she was attached enough to Jinsoul to cause disappointment. 

“Hi,” the brunette says when they approach. “I’m Yves.”

“Haseul. Nice to meet you.”

“We usually do this before clients move in.” Yves gestures to the girls lugging supplies into the house. “But you’re a special case.”

That is some grade A ambiguity, and it makes Haseul smile. She won’t be talking to the press again anytime soon, but she can still appreciate well-crafted vagueness. 

“Thanks for your flexibility.” 

She sticks out a hand, and Yves shakes it.

Yves has an excellent handshake, strong but effortless, the kind you don’t have unless you plan to use it. She suits the island in some ways, with the soft wave to her hair and a shift dress fit for the heat, but Haseul can’t help but wonder if she had another self planned out before she settled into this one.

Yves’ company is smaller than Haseul expected, given that someone in her circle recommended it. Yves is like that, too – a presence out of scale with the reality of her. 

“How’s your experience so far?” Yves says.

“No complaints. Jinsoul has been great.” 

“Jinsoul is great.”

The words are right but Yves’ intonation is wrong, and it makes Haseul realize – this is who Jinsoul was talking about. It makes sense: she, like Jinsoul, is uncommonly pretty. Why wouldn’t they be drawn to each other. 

It makes sense, but it also sends unease trickling through Haseul. She’s not thrilled to be talking to the woman Jinsoul is broken up over. 

Which, again. Implications. 

;;

When you’re plotting the downfall of a multinational corporation, you consider a lot of things. Especially if, like Haseul, you’re meticulous enough to get beyond plotting to execution.

What you don’t think about: how bored you’ll be in the aftermath.

This island seemed perfect – far enough away that no one could reach her, exclusive enough that no one would question her presence, private enough that no enterprising hotel worker could sell her location to the press. It is perfect, in all those ways, but Haseul is about to tear her hair out from the monotony of its perfection.

As one week in paradise slides into two she’s realizing how ill-suited she is to solitary leisure. In the life that used to be hers, there were always people and things clamoring for her attention. Now, she’s untethered and adrift, and she’s starting to go crazy with it.

Week three brings relief in the form of a bubbly, red-haired girl at the house next door. She’s on the island for a (very loud) family reunion, and Haseul catches her peering over the fence at Haseul’s pool with longing eyes. 

“Want to use it?”

“Can I?”

“As long as you don’t bring all fifty of your relatives.”

“Oh no, they’re great but I could use a break.”

The girl’s name is Chuu, Haseul finds out. She’s cute and harmless, so when she comes back the next day dressed for swimming Haseul lets her into the pool and eventually into the house. There she bounces with nervous energy, eyes flickering over Haseul’s body, and Haseul has a hunch she wants more than the lemonade they came inside for.

“How old are you,” Haseul asks.

“23. Why?”

“I wanted to make sure you’re old enough for this.”

Haseul kisses her, and though Chuu is taller she melts into it, hands sliding down to squeeze Haseul’s ass. They spend a lot of that week in bed, and also in the dedicated karaoke room Haseul's house has for some reason. Chuu’s voice is amazing, and the night before Chuu leaves they sing at each other until Haseul goes hoarse.

Laying back on a leather couch, Chuu looks at Haseul with calculation. 

“I’d give you my number but I don’t think you’d take it.”

“I wouldn’t use it, even if I did.”

Chuu nods sagely.

“Fits the whole rich, mysterious and wounded vibe you’ve got going on.”

Haseul grins. 

“Is that what I am?”

“It’s totally hot, don’t get me wrong. You’re going to be one of my best stories.”

;;

Once Chuu’s gone, monotony returns with a vengeance. 

Haseul goes on a dolphin-watching tour, reads everything in the bookstore’s “beach favorites” section. Contemplates checking out the driving range where you hit balls into the surf, but decides that golf is her hard line. 

She takes Jinsoul to coffee again, mostly to ask if there’s anything else on the island she could do.

“I think I’ve reached my limit on appreciating natural beauty.”

“There’s also a ‘fruits of the sea’ cooking class.” Haseul makes a face, and Jinsoul laughs. She seems better this week, Haseul notices. “I could find you a more exciting vacation spot, you know. You’ve paid us enough that I feel bad taking your money if you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t come to enjoy myself, anyway.”

“Why did you come?”

The directness stuns Haseul – Jinsoul has never even alluded to life before the island, let alone asked a question like that. It makes Haseul retrace the conversation in her head, realizing that she invited this.

It’s not like her, creating an opening without meaning to. That it happened suggests she’s letting her guard down (or, perhaps more concerning, that some part of her wanted Jinsoul to ask). 

Jinsoul waits. She doesn’t pressure Haseul for an answer but she doesn’t back down either, and as Haseul cycles through the possible responses it hits her that she wants to talk. Not about the whole thing, of course, but enough so that someone else can help carry the weight of why she’s here. 

“I found out my old company did a lot of bad things,” Haseul starts, and surprise is clear in Jinsoul’s expression. That’s fair – Haseul didn’t expect herself to answer, either. “I made it so that they couldn’t anymore. I guess you could say I’m hiding out now, while I figure out what’s next.”

Jinsoul nods. 

“Sounds like you used to be busy. What are you doing with your time now?”

Haseul lets out a humorless laugh.

“Nothing. So much nothing.”

Jinsoul nods again but her eyes are distant, like she’s gone somewhere else. She doesn’t say anything, so eventually Haseul asks:

“What are you thinking about?”

“Do you know how sharks breathe?”

“Um.” That isn’t what Haseul expected, as far as reactions go. But it could be worse, so she wracks her brain for bio facts stored since high school. “Don’t they suffocate if they stop moving, or something?”

“Close. Sharks all have gills, and they get oxygen by running water through them. The less active species – nurse sharks, reef sharks – have this cheek muscle that pumps water so that they can breathe without moving. The big, open water sharks don’t have that, though. They need forward motion to breathe, like you said, and we call them obligate ram ventilators because they literally ram water through their gills as they move.”

Haseul is trying to pay attention, she really is, but it’s hard to care about sharks when Jinsoul is so bright with enthusiasm.

“Anyway!” Jinsoul says, realizing that Haseul is getting lost. “Most people think that it sounds terrible, never getting to rest. But recent studies suggest that activity is more relaxing to sharks than rest, as much as we can understand what they find relaxing. So I was just thinking, uh. That you sound like an obligate ram ventilator shark.”

Haseul blinks. Jinsoul chuckles, tries again:

“In that doing nothing is stressing you out.” 

“I caused that entire thought process?”

“Oh, I think about things like that all the time. Anyways, why wouldn’t you cause it? You’re interesting.”

“Does that mean you’re interested?”

Haseul means it mostly as a provocation, a way to deflect from what she’s revealed.

But then Jinsoul breaks eye contact, gaze flicking down to Haseul’s left hand. Her eyes widen at the empty space where Haseul’s ring used to be. 

“I took it off. We're not going to be married much longer, I think.” 

Haseul answers the unspoken question. Jinsoul looks guiltily at the floor. 

There’s no clearer tell. She’s interested, and Haseul feels – well, it’s hard to say, and she pushes down on the tangled knot of things swirling around that knowledge. She’ll have plenty of time to catalogue the feelings later. 

“I’m sorry,” Jinsoul says, still not meeting her gaze.

“I’m not. You shouldn’t be, either.”

;;

Jinsoul starts bringing Haseul along with her. 

Not to touristy places. On errands to the fish market, where Haseul holds her nose as Jinsoul haggles over clients’ most exotic requests. Or out on her lab’s motorboat, to pull data from the buoys that track marine animals. 

“The big project right now is sea turtles,” Jinsoul explains as she works. “But there are people studying dolphins and a bunch of different fish, too. Buoys like this store it all – whenever anything we’ve tagged comes by, its chip pings the chip in here. And the awesome part is that it transmits all captured location data, so we get the entire history of where that animal’s been.” 

Haseul is happy to listen as she talks. It’s hard not to like nerd Jinsoul.

She has other sides, too, Haseul finds out. Like the one that appears when she teaches Haseul to surf.

They meet on the beach, by a pier that stretches a half-mile into the water. The waves break best here, Jinsoul said, and she’s already in the surf when Haseul arrives. 

She raises a hand in greeting and then catches a wave in. 

As she leaves the water, time slows for Haseul. Jinsoul is always pretty, but in board shorts and a bikini top she’s devastating. Haseul watches a drop of water trail down her abs, desire spiking hot and sudden. She wants to put her hands on Jinsoul. Her tongue, too. 

Then Jinsoul sticks her board in the sand, grabbing a smaller one for Haseul and grinning goofily.

“It’s for kids. Or for anyone who’s learning! Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Jinsoul’s face is sheepish, and Haseul thinks it’s unfair – someone that hot shouldn’t also get to be cute. 

They spend two hours in the water, where Jinsoul is patient and kind, arranging Haseul's limbs into the correct stance. By the end, Haseul is battered but triumphant: she stood for two whole seconds before that last wave turned on her. 

“Why are you doing all this,” Haseul says as they leave. 

Jinsoul lifts her shoulders, lets them fall.

“I can’t give you things to do, but I thought maybe showing you some of mine would be an ok substitute.” 

;;

One night, Haseul makes dinner for Jinsoul. 

She’s not a great cook but she can follow directions, and after letting several weeks’ worth of things go bad in the fridge she’s determined to use them this time. 

She tells herself she invites Jinsoul because there’s no one else, but a voice in her head whispers that even back in Seoul with her whole address book there’s no one else she’d rather see. 

She makes a spicy seafood stew, serving it with a dry white. Jinsoul digs in with relish.

“I don’t usually get to eat the stuff we put in these houses. It’s pretty good. Not worth the price, though.” She realizes who she’s talking to, almost chokes. “Um. I mean.”

Haseul laughs.

“No, you’re right.”

After dinner, Haseul refills their glasses and they watch the sunset from the roof. 

Haseul starts off watching the sky, but her eyes find Jinsoul again and again. Like the sun, she's too bright for sustained observation, light turning to fire against her hair.

Jinsoul catches her looking. Haseul doesn’t try to play it off.

Slowly but with intention, Jinsoul cups Haseul’s cheek. Runs her thumb over Haseul’s skin. 

Haseul can’t catch her breath; she feels too much, like all the emotion she’s suppressed for a month got packed into this single moment. 

When Jinsoul gets so close there’s no mistaking her aim, Haseul turns away.

“Do you not want this?”

Jinsoul’s voice is confused, vulnerable. Haseul aches to hear it.

“I do. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.”

She says that like it's a simple yes-or-no choice, and Haseul thinks for a second that Jinsoul will try to kiss her again. Thinks that this time she wouldn't pull away.

Instead, Jinsoul swings an arm around her shoulders.

Haseul breathes out, disappointment mixed with relief. Hesitates, then chooses to lean in closer.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got long, sorry it took a while. Hope you enjoy. I'm moving for real in a few weeks, so it might be August before I get the last part up. (The last part also might become two parts, in which case I'll update sooner.)

Jinsoul skips certain places when she shows Haseul around. For example: the office. 

She isn’t avoiding it, per se. There are just better places to go. All of them, really, are prettier and more interesting than the cramped storefront where she and Yves run their operation. 

And if more interesting means Jinsoul doesn’t have to deal with Haseul and Yves in the same space, that’s a welcome side benefit. 

Haseul alone is complicated enough. After the-kiss-that-wasn’t, Jinsoul isn’t sure what to do with her. It’s harder than if Haseul had definitively shut her down: “I don’t want to hurt you” hangs in the air between them but so too does a sparking potential. 

Jinsoul keeps wondering if each passing moment is one she should be using to make something happen. And keeps letting them pass anyway, because while Haseul seems to want her there are a million reasons Haseul might not want to translate desire into action. 

It’s making Jinsoul overthink the smallest interaction – and there are a lot of them to overthink, since Haseul is still paying for her attention. 

Like right now. Jinsoul is at Haseul’s place, demonstrating proper pool maintenance since Haseul bought one along with the house and has no idea how to take care of it. 

That was the theory, at least. In reality, they’re sprawled on floats in the shallow end because the day is too hot for ambitions. The sun is so heavy it feels like hands pressing down, holding you in place, and the sky is the kind of blue that makes you forget clouds are possible. Even breathing is a workout, and it’s only with arms and legs dangling into cool water that Jinsoul is sure she’ll survive until sunset. 

Haseul for once seems content with stasis, spinning in slow, lazy circles on an inner tube. She kicks some water at Jinsoul, and Jinsoul means to splash back but the kick draws her attention to Haseul’s legs. She gets lost in the shape of Haseul’s thighs, the teasing line where skin disappears under water. 

Is this a Moment? Should she do something? 

Her phone goes off, shattering half-formed plans. It’s Yves’ ringtone, so Jinsoul hauls herself up onto the pool’s edge to answer.

“Can you come in?” Yves says.

“I’m with Haseul.”

“I know, and I wouldn’t ask but Gowon drove a boat into the dock at the marina.”

“What? Who gave her keys? Is everyone ok?”

“Everyone but the boat. I need to go talk the owner out of charging her, but we’ve got deliveries coming and I can’t leave the office empty.”

“Give me fifteen.”

“Thanks. I appreciate this.”

There’s relief in Yves’ voice, and it makes Jinsoul pause – have things gotten so weird that Yves doubts she’d even show up? 

Jinsoul hangs up, towels off and throws on her dress. Haseul is looking up at her in question, and though there’s no need to make the invitation Jinsoul does it anyway. 

“Want to see where I work?”

This, at least, is a selfish desire she can give into. 

;;

Yves is waiting at the door when they get there, impatient to go, but she slows down at the sight of Haseul. Takes time to look between Haseul and Jinsoul, raising a curious, pointed eyebrow. 

“Nice to see you again,” Haseul says.

“You too.” 

Both of them sound perfectly polite, but their body language is dogs circling before a fight, each sniffing out the other’s weakness. 

Yves turns to Jinsoul. 

“I don’t know how long this will take, they sounded angry. But you guys have fun.”

Once she’s gone, Jinsoul lets Haseul into the office. That creates its own kind of tension; the business is successful enough, but it’s hardly what Haseul is used to. (Jinsoul still isn’t sure what she did, but it was obviously Big and Important. Scandals only matter if they have scale.)

Showing her their modest space – a desk at each side, a cluttered meeting table in the center – feels like presenting a master woodworker with a lopsided bird house held together by tape.

Haseul goes straight to Jinsoul’s desk, dropping into the chair behind it. She bounces around, leaning backward and forward to test its reaction. Hums, then nods decisively. 

“Nice. Chairs are important, and this is a good one.”

“Yves picked it out.”

“She has good taste.” 

Haseul’s smirk suggests she’s talking about more than office furniture, so Jinsoul goes to the other desk, starts on some paperwork in self-defense. 

“You’re welcome to look around at anything,” she says, carefully keeping her eyes on the screen. 

“Anything?”

“Sure. We’re not important enough to have secrets.”

So Jinsoul works and Haseul explores, peering into filing cabinets and poking around the storage bay out back. She leaves when the deliveries start coming, slipping out the door with a wave.

Yves gets back just before closing time.

“We won’t have to post bail today, at least.”

She settles in at the table, and though she doesn’t speak again her silence is loud. 

“Go ahead,” Jinsoul says.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you want to. I know you, and that’s your ‘I have a comment’ face.”

“Fine. I was thinking that you’re spending a lot of time with Haseul.”

Jinsoul can’t tell if it’s just a comment, or if there’s something else to the words – accusation, warning, any of the half dozen other pointed forms of address that Yves probably doesn’t get to do anymore. But then her tone is trying hard to be neutral, and Jinsoul was already out of line in bullying her into speaking. 

She should’ve let Yves hold her silence, but. She wants to talk to someone about Haseul, and Yves is the one who’s here. Maybe she should get some friends she hasn’t dated, though, because that sentence is enough to make her defensive.

“I have to. It’s work.”

“Is it?”

Jinsoul wants to say “of course,” but the words taste like a lie on her tongue. She can feel Yves making meaning out of her non-answer, and it irks her that whatever Yves is assuming it’s probably right. 

“Jimin told me you’ve been bringing her to the market for weeks now,” Yves says. “Said congratulations, by the way, on catching a rich one.”

“It’s not. We’re not.”

Jinsoul trails off, unable to find a fitting end. She wishes, absurdly, that she could ask Yves to make sense of Haseul for her, since she’s so good at reading this kind of thing. 

Yves watches her struggle for a while, then comes over to rest a hand on her shoulder. 

“You don’t have to tell me, even if it is. Just be careful, ok? I’m gonna go pick up dinner, do you want your usual?”

“Sure.”

Yves brings back an extra cookie for Jinsoul, and with chocolate chips melting in her mouth Jinsoul thinks there are worse peace offerings. 

;;

As June gets underway, the season picks up.

The beaches swell with people: teenagers in packs coming down for the day, families shoving hats onto sunburned children, retirees in the flashy speedboats they can finally afford. Surfers and fishermen retreat to dawn to avoid the worst of the crowds, and it gets hot – really, incessantly hot, so that Jinsoul’s sweating every time she steps outside. 

“I liked it better before,” Haseul grumbles. “Now whenever I drive I get stuck behind a golf cart.”

Jinsoul laughs.

“You sound like a local.”

They’re headed to the office – Haseul is driving Jinsoul to the office. It’s a thing she’s started doing, since more people means more clients for Jinsoul to deal with, more hours spent on real work instead of whatever Haseul is. 

(Yesterday a man insisted his 800 thread count sheets were only 200, and threatened to sue them for false advertising. The day before a woman called hyperventilating because she saw a shark fin in the water. It turned out to be a kid snorkeling). 

Some days Haseul leaves Jinsoul at the door, and Jinsoul kind of lives for the soft squeeze of her hand she gets in goodbye. Others – today included – Haseul comes in, setting up camp in a corner and reading for a few hours. 

Yves sees all of this and refrains from comment. Jinsoul knows it’s not just for her sake: Haseul has already tripled their expected income for the summer, so Yves would probably let her tap dance on the meeting table all day, if she wanted. 

Today Haseul is reading something business-y, and Jinsoul is trying to figure out what it is without looking like she’s looking when she gets a call from her thesis advisor.

“Remember that deep ocean imaging project? They’re coming to the lab next weekend, because they wanted to test the equipment on a different kind of marine habitat. I got you a spot on the boat.”

“Wait, seriously?” 

“Seriously.”

“You’re the best advisor ever.”

“Tell people that when you get famous.”

She’s giddy when she hangs up, eager to pull up the relevant papers, think up good questions for the PI. 

“What’s the good news?” Yves says.

Jinsoul explains the project, words sliding together in her excitement. 

“This is next weekend?”

Yves’ voice is pointed, and Jinsoul realizes: she’s supposed to work next weekend. A lot. 

It’s never been a problem before, balancing the job and her research, but then a lot of things are different this summer. 

“Can you cover for me?” Jinsoul says, even though she knows it’s not fair.

Yves massages her temples.

“I can’t be in three places at once, ‘soul.”

Jinsoul’s heart falls.

“Ok. I’ll tell them to give my spot to someone else.”

She knows she sounds pathetic, but she can’t help it – this is all her research interests come together, and it’d be a great opportunity to meet people. She can already hear her advisor yelling at her for missing out on it, especially after the strings he had to have pulled to get her on that boat. 

Sighing at missed opportunities, she picks up the phone to call back.

“Wait.” Yves holds up a hand. “Go do your thing. I’ll figure it out.”

“How? There’s new employee training, and a bunch of clients coming in, and-”

“Like I said, I’ll figure it out.”

They lock eyes, and behind Yves’ annoyance there’s so much affection. This is why it’s easy to love Yves - why Jinsoul will always love her, though the texture of it has changed. She’d reshape the world for the people she’s claimed as hers. 

“Can I help,” Haseul says from the corner of the room. 

Jinsoul startles; she’d forgotten Haseul was there. 

Yves squints at her.

“You know you don’t work here, right? Like, you’re paying us. Not the other way around.”

“New employee training, you said. That’s pretty straightforward. Do you have a script? Guidelines?” Yves is too taken aback to answer so Haseul comes over, flips through papers until she finds it. “Huh. This is more thorough than I’ve seen in companies a dozen times your size.”

“Wait. Jo Haseul.” Realization flashes in Yves’ eyes. “You’re Gaia Energy, aren’t you. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

Haseul goes very still.

“Used to be. I’m not anything, right now.”

Jinsoul looks between the two of them, feeling like she’s missing something. She knows the name, of course – it’s the biggest energy supplier in Asia, the one that powers this office and her apartment. It seems to mean more than that to Yves, though, because it’s like a switch is flipped in her: her suspicion melts into sympathetic understanding, as if now she gets the whole course of Haseul’s life. 

“It’s really brave, what you did,” Yves says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, like the one reporter not in your family’s pocket would’ve found high level documentation all on his own. I wondered who the whistleblower was, but you being here is proof enough.”

“Does that mean I can run orientation?”

“If that’s what you want. Sure, why not.” 

;;

After all that, the lab visit gets cancelled because of a storm. 

At first, the weathermen think it will bypass the island, but ten percent probability becomes fifty, and fifty becomes not-quite-hysterical warnings to evacuate. There’s still time to prepare: it’s a slow-moving storm, the kind that looms off the coast for a week before making landfall, kicking up waves that make Jinsoul sacrifice sleep to go surf. 

She and Yves get their clients off the island, offering refunds or luxury suites at a hotel on the mainland. In the process, Jinsoul gets a very insistent headache from how many times she has to say: no, I’m sorry, I can’t in fact postpone the storm until after your vacation.

Then, they make their own plans. Lip is coming to get Yves, so that they can go together to Lip’s place. 

“Like I can’t drive four hours on my own,” Yves says, but there’s appreciation hiding under the complaint. They’re in the office, making sure everything is in order before the storm-induced holiday.

“I think it’s sweet. She wants to spend time with you.”

“She is sweet. I guess.” Yves clears her throat. “You’re sure you don’t want to come with us?”

“Nah, someone’s got to stay with the lab. Too much liability if it’s an undergrad.”

That’s true – there’s an experiment that needs to be checked every 12 hours (something involving algae; Jinsoul doesn’t really understand because she prefers creatures big enough to see, but she knows the procedure well enough to sample, stain, photograph slides). 

But, the bigger reason is Jinsoul doesn’t want to be stuck in Lip’s guest room. Which will soon be Lip-and-Yves’ guest room. 

Yves looks like she has more to say, so Jinsoul waits.

“By the way. We should talk about the future.” 

“The future?” 

“For the company, I mean. There’s been some interest in buying it, and you’re only going to get busier with research. And I won’t be here full time after the summer.” That news startles Jinsoul, and it must show because Yves’ voice gets gentle. “What did you think it would mean for me to move in with Lip?”

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Jinsoul kicks at the carpet, fighting against the sense of betrayal. 

Yves has always had ambitions bigger than the island, and Jinsoul is proud of her for building toward a life beyond it. She’s pieced herself together again, after her family did their best to break her, and Jinsoul hopes with everything she has that Yves can go out into the world and conquer.

But it also hurts, because if she leaves the island she also leaves Jinsoul.

It’s not fair to think like that, but fairness is a thing she’ll shoot for later. Right now, there’s just the raw, immediate fear: what will I do without Yves here with me. 

“Hey, we don’t have to decide anything now. I just didn’t want you to get blindsided. Lip will be here soon – come out to dinner with us tonight, since you won’t come with us.” When Jinsoul is about to demur, she adds: “Bring Haseul, if you want.’

“Yeah, ok. I’ll ask her.”

;;

Haseul agrees, and they all go to dinner at the island’s one fancy restaurant. The storm is supposed to hit late the next day, so it’s deserted: most people have already fled.

After ordering, the four of them exchange awkward glances as a French love song croons in the background. Jinsoul can barely look at Lip, and having Haseul beside her isn’t so much calming her down as reminding her of another relationship she hasn’t managed to move forward.

Finally, Yves says:

“You know, Haseul, I think we went to summer camp together as kids.”

It turns out that they did, and talking about it is the perfect way ease the atmosphere. Haseul tells stories about shy, lanky Yves, who faked poison ivy so that she could read instead of doing group activities. Yves retaliates with tales of tiny troublemaker Haseul, who turned a game of capture the flag into a full camp mutiny demanding better snacks. 

Jinsoul listens with a grin, relieved that they’ve found a safe piece of shared past. 

It also helps that they split a couple bottles of wine. As the meal progresses things get looser, loose enough that Jinsoul can ignore the swirling currents of tension. She’d almost believe they’re two couples out on a normal double date, especially when Haseul’s leg brushes hers under the table. She dares to cover it with her hand, lasting a few seconds before her nerve gives out. 

When the check comes, Yves, Lip, and Haseul all reach for it. Jinsoul doesn’t bother. She figures someone owes her this.

“We agreed I could do one extravagant thing a month,” Lip says, prying Yves’s hand off of black leather. 

Yves sighs but bows out, which leaves Haseul and Lip holding onto opposite corners of the bill cover. 

“You guys are cute,” Haseul says. “But I’m paying. It’s for a good cause, I promise.”

She’s got her convincing voice on, gentle but firm, and Lip lasts all of a moment before giving in.

“Why does she get to pay,” Yves complains.

“Because she’s Jo Haseul.” Lip turns to Haseul. “It’s amazing to meet you, by the way. I’ve, um. I’ve been a fan since that profile of you in the _Times_.”

The comment spurs a weird feeling in Jinsoul – why does everyone seem to know Haseul better than she does? She gets caught up in being disgruntled, and then in wondering whether she has the right to be disgruntled, given that she and Haseul aren’t officially anything. 

By the time she tunes back in, everyone has agreed to go to Yves’ place for another round. 

This is an emphatically bad idea. Jinsoul is sure the moment she steps inside.

She hasn’t been in Yves’ apartment in a while, for obvious reasons, but they lived here together that one summer. Their history is written into every surface: there’s a dent in the wall where Yves celebrated Jinsoul’s grad school acceptance a little too enthusiastically, and a scorch mark on the stove from when she and Yves got so into each other they forgot to turn the heat off. 

It’d be nice if moving on were a linear process, something you could make progress with and never lose ground. It’s not – if Jinsoul were to graph her recovery from Yves, it’d be a jagged collection of peaks and valleys. This place, this night, is a definite valley.

Being in Yves’ space dissolves the veneer of normalcy they’ve all been operating under. Jinsoul can’t bring herself to look at Yves, and Yves must be the same because as soon as drinks are poured Lip says: 

“You know, the way you’re avoiding looking at her is the most suspicious thing you could possibly do.”

Jinsoul stiffens. Haseul doesn’t react, staring at the board game they got out as a pretense for whatever is about to happen. 

“What do you want me to do,” Yves says. 

Lip sighs, exasperation palpable. 

“Whatever you want to do. Just stop being so self-conscious. I can hear how hard you’re thinking, and it’s making me tired.”

“But I don’t know how to-”

Yves stops, looks conflicted.

“How to be around both of them at the same time?’ Haseul offers. All eyes snap to her, and she laughs. “Sorry, but this is pretty transparent. Yves and Jinsoul have history. Yves and Lip have a present. And none of you know what to do with each other.”

“You told her about us?” Yves hisses at Jinsoul.

“I needed someone to talk to,” Jinsoul hisses back, breaking her silence for the first time. “Don’t you think that night messed me up, too?”

Yves’ face twists with guilty apology. She looks from Jinsoul to Lip, who rolls her eyes. 

“I told you, I’m over that. You guys kissed. You’re not going to do it again. It’s fine.”

“Maybe I’m not over it,” Yves says, and the room gets very quiet.

“What does that mean?” 

Lip’s voice is calm, but tension radiates off of her.

“I still feel bad. You forgave me so easily. Can’t you like, punish me first or something. I’d deserve it.”

“What, do you want me to kiss someone else too?”

Yves gets thoughtful in the way that means yes, only she doesn’t want to admit it. Jinsoul knows that, and Lip must too, because she raises an eyebrow at Jinsoul in question. 

“I’m not kissing you,” Jinsoul says quickly.

“I would,” Haseul says. To their incredulous stares: “What? You guys have so much drama and I’m just sitting here. Maybe I feel a little left out.” 

Yves nods like this is a thing that makes sense, and then they’re all steamrolling ahead, with Haseul shooting Lip a flirty wink and an “Up for it?”

Lip blushes to the roots of her hair.

“Well now this has to happen.” 

Yves has always been fond of mischief; she sounds the happiest she has all night, and she pokes at Lip until she gets up to stand in the center of the room. She looks stranded, helpless, until Haseul gets up too. 

Takes Lip’s face in her hands. Kisses her.

Jinsoul pinches her own arm. Yep, this is real.

She doesn’t know what to do – is she supposed to watch? Avoid watching? What are the rules for when your maybe love interest kisses your ex’s girlfriend to heal an unbalanced relationship. 

Jinsoul tries to look, but as Lip leans into the kiss disappointment forces her eyes away. 

Everyone else is staking a claim on Haseul: Yves with the childhood stories, now Lip with this. Haseul is here for Jinsoul, theoretically, but right now it doesn’t feel like it. 

Jinsoul has plenty of experience ceding the center of attention. That happened a lot, when she was with Yves – Yves was quicker to react, sharper with a quip, always a half step ahead in any interaction. It made winning arguments impossible, and also meant she was along for the ride in her own life sometimes. She’s getting that feeling again now, sitting here while Lip kisses the girl she wants to be kissing, and then. Something inside her snaps. 

She wants Haseul to be hers – wants to be the one getting all Haseul’s attention. She’d thought maybe she was still too compromised for that to be fair, but honestly fuck waiting to be whole before you try to connect with someone.

Jinsoul decides it’s time. She’s going to try, for whatever that’s worth.

The kiss breaks, after what feels like forever but was probably only a few seconds. Then, of all things, Lip yawns.

“Was I that boring?” Haseul says.

“No! I” – Lip yawns again – “I’m just tired, I swear!”

Which is all the opening Jinsoul needs.

“Sounds like it’s time for us to go.” 

They all say goodbye. Haseul and Lip take a while to discuss something, which leaves Yves and Jinsoul alone for the first time all night.

“Well, we survived,” Yves says.

“It was touch and go for a while.”

“I like her, you know. As a person and for you.”

“Is there a but coming?”

“No, I’m serious. She’s in a rough situation, and I’m sure it’s complicated. But.” Yves shrugs, gives a conspiratorial grin. “You’ve got some experience with complicated.”

;;

“When are you leaving the island,” Jinsoul says as she pulls up to Haseul’s house. 

She says it just to start a conversation, because she wants more time with Haseul and for all her resolve she’s not bold enough to just make a declaration.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m staying here.”

“What? When you said you already had things figured out, I didn’t think you meant you’re trying to drown yourself in this disaster of a house.”

Haseul laughs.

“Ok, that’s a little dramatic. You’re staying on the island too.”

“In a specially reinforced lab! Haseul, I’m serious – that house is built so close to the surf, and it’s at a weak point in the dunes, and the reason it’s so big and new is that the last one on this lot got demolished by a storm a few years ago. I wouldn’t let the most obnoxious client ever stay here in this, let alone someone I like.”

“You like me?”

Of course Haseul zeros in on the last part of that rant. Jinsoul had been imagining a better confession, but this one is already happening, so. Might as well commit to it. 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Kind of. I didn’t expect you to say it, though.”

“I’m tired of not saying things. So, I want this. Even if you end up hurting me.”

Haseul is silent for a minute. Then, slowly, she reaches for Jinsoul’s hand. She kisses it, and it’s probably meant to be romantic but Jinsoul’s hand is sweaty and when Haseul’s lips make contact she jerks from the shock of static electricity. 

The whole thing skews into absurd, and they both start laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Haseul says. “I don’t really know how to do this.”

“This?”

“Like someone.” She tries to smile, and Jinsoul is charmed by how tentative it is. “I like you, too.” 

“Then stay with me tomorrow. Everyone else is gone, so we’ll have the lab to ourselves.”

;;

By the time Haseul arrives, the storm is already simmering. The wind is unsettled, swinging wildly between directions, and lightning flashes in the distance against the purple-gray sky. 

They eat a quiet dinner of sandwiches, then retreat to the lab’s dorm. It’s all bunk beds, and they claim a bottom bunk to watch nature documentaries on Jinsoul’s laptop (she has a bunch downloaded, so they’re set on entertainment even if the wifi goes).

As the storm picks up, Haseul grows increasingly pale.

“You ok?” Jinsoul says.

“It’s just so loud. Is it supposed to be like that?”

“I mean. Storms are loud?”

Haseul shrugs, looking small and tense, and Jinsoul realizes that maybe for her they haven’t always been. She’s probably had the best weatherproofing money can buy, watched the storm rage outside from a perfect, insulated, untouched interior. This must feel different, with the wind whistling in through cracks in old wood, the rain thunderous against a roof built for bare functionality rather than comfort. 

Jinsoul can’t build her a better shelter, but maybe there are other ways to help.

“Do you know why we’re completely safe here?” 

There’s a shockingly loud clap of thunder; from the way it echoes, lightning must have struck nearby.

Haseul recoils, hiding her face in her arms. When she speaks her voice is tiny.

“No.”

“Want me to tell you?”

Jinsoul offers because Haseul seems like someone who believes a thing more when she can see can see inside it, get at the mechanics that make a statement true. 

Haseul peers up, just enough to meet Jinsoul’s eyes. Jinsoul shuffles closer to her, so that their shoulders touch.

“Ok.”

“First, we’re on the sound side of the island. The water’s calmer here – even in a storm, the waves are smaller than the ocean on a normal day. Beyond that, there’s another island shielding this end of ours. So the only real danger here is from flooding. We’re on the third level – this place has been here a long time, and the worst hurricanes never caused flooding beyond the first floor. That’s why the storm has to howl so loud: it knows that whatever it does, we’ll still be safe.”

As Jinsoul talks, the ball that Haseul has become leans into her. Jinsoul is stiff at first, hyper aware of the contact, but eventually the strain on her back overcomes her awkwardness. They slide down into the bed, so that Jinsoul’s laying back with Haseul draped over her side. 

It’s different, Jinsoul notices, having a person be smaller than you. She likes it, the way she can engulf Haseul, surrounding her and keeping her safe. 

As they finish one documentary and start on another, Haseul seems calmer. Jinsoul can feel her breathing get slower, the tension seep out of her body. 

“Jinsoul?” Haseul says, voice heavy with sleep. “Thanks for being here with me. I don’t know what I’d be doing right now, without you.”

Her breath evens out as sleep claims her fully, and Jinsoul takes the opportunity to look at her now that she can’t be caught. The knife-sharp line of Haseul’s hair has softened, gone endearingly shaggy as it grows out. Her skin is a shade darker now, and there might be freckles forming along the bridge of her nose. In Jinsoul’s old t-shirt (one for bio majors, complete with a dinosaur pun), she looks a world away from when she got here.

Jinsoul falls asleep too, eventually. By morning they’ve moved apart, with Haseul facing away.

The outside world is quiet, the storm spent, so there’s nothing to distract Jinsoul from the way Haseul’s body pulls at her. They’ve spent a lot of time together but Jinsoul has been careful about physical contact, because she doesn’t want to take more than is willingly given. It’s hard though, because she adores touch – the simple comfort of a hug, the spark of skin on skin.

And there’s a lot of skin now, there for the taking. The back of Haseul’s arms and legs, visible where she’s kicked off the covers. The sliver of pale, soft looking back exposed where Haseul’s shirt is riding up. 

Jinsoul stares at it, at the dimples of Haseul’s spine. (She thinks they’re cute, which is a measure of how far she’s gone because who on earth thinks a spine is cute.)

She isn’t sure what happens next, because one second she’s looking at Haseul and the next she’s slid up against her, arm wrapping around her stomach. Haseul stirs, and Jinsoul forgets how to breath because oh god she’s awake and how will Jinsoul explain this away.

Only she doesn’t have to – Haseul stirring turns into her scooting back, wriggling into Jinsoul until they’re pressed as close as possible. Her arm moves to parallel Jinsoul’s, twining their hands together. It’s sweet, but it’s also kind of a problem, because Jinsoul has wanted Haseul since that first day at the airport and the immediacy of full body contact brings it all rushing back. 

Jinsoul can’t help herself; she presses a kiss Haseul’s shoulder. Bites it, too, when the kiss isn’t enough to release the tension coiling in her.

Haseul rolls over to face her. Her expression is unreadable, and Jinsoul expects a reprimand. 

Instead, Haseul’s hands trace all over her. They start with her face, then trail over her neck, her collarbones, down her arm and up her sides. Through her hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. 

Goosebumps rise wherever Haseul touches, and the places she chooses are a slow escalation, like raising the stakes at a poker game. By the time she makes her way up Jinsoul’s ribs, to just under her breasts, Jinsoul is breathing hard and pulled taught from tension. 

When they finally kiss, it’s inseparable from the riot of touch already playing out all over Jinsoul's body. It’s about Haseul’s mouth, but also the way her fingers curl at the base of Jinsoul’s spine, the leg she throws over Jinsoul’s hip, shifting so she can bring Jinsoul in closer. 

At that point, Jinsoul finally remembers that she gets to touch too. She flips them over, settles between Haseul’s legs. Delights in the way they wrap around her.

“Are you sure?” she says, giving Haseul one last out.

“If I’m sure about anything, it’s this.”

**Author's Note:**

> twt: [@leaderline97](https://twitter.com/leaderline97)  
> cc: [@leaderline97](https://curiouscat.me/leaderline97)


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